


Purple

by rickyling



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Also Atlanta's back!, And Daryl has a prosthetic arm bc i love him and i need him to suffer, Daryl and Maggie act like everythings okay but they're dying inside :)), Firefighter!Daryl, Firefighter!Maggie, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ricks still a cop tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3267224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickyling/pseuds/rickyling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rick Grimes’ life takes a turn for the worst, he packs up all his belongings and hightails it to a small town just outside King County, Georgia. His attempts to flee a hectic and stressful life fail when he moves into an old Victorian duplex house, and becomes neighbors with two young firefighters: Maggie Greene and Daryl Dixon. And when his hand first has contact with the cold metal that replaced Daryl’s, he realizes he’s not the only one this world has broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hear the Bells

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a little idea I've been sitting on for a while.

I promise concern for others.   
A willingness to help all those in need.  
  
I promise courage - courage to face and conquer my fears.  
Courage to share and endure the ordeal of those who need me.  
  
I promise strength - strength of heart to bear whatever  
burdens might be placed upon me.   
Strength of body to deliver to safety all those placed within my care.  
  
I promise the wisdom to lead, the compassion to comfort,   
and the love to serve unselfishly whenever I am called.   
-Author Unknown

 

* * *

 

 

_Maggie used to tell Daryl that he doesn’t get a say in who lives or dies, that in the end its fate that decides. Daryl always believed that was bullshit. It was his job to protect people, and he was going to save everyone he could. That entire fate shit was a lie. The passion for his job burned hotter than the fires he fought; he’d go in hand and hand to save the life of any person or animal. It was satisfying, he realized, to save people. It was something he was actually good at—something he didn’t constantly fuck up. He soon realized though, that fire is untamable, shows no mercy. Sometimes he can still feel the ghost of his left arm, but only for a few moments before the black metal comes back into focus and bile rises in his throat._

Rick hears church bells as he pulls into the driveway of his new home, and thinks morbidly that even God is laughing at him. He spares his son a glance in the front seat, not surprised at all to see the boy staring down at his phone will full concentration. The music blasting from Carl’s headphones is just barely audible above Judith’s blabbering in the backseat, the three year old lost in her own little world. Rick takes the moment to lean his forehead onto the steering wheel in front of him, gathering his wits and sucking in a breath.

“Dad?” Carl’s voice is enough to drag Rick out of the swirling vortex of his mind, and he turns to stare blankly at his son’s mildly concerned face. The boy’s head was cocked, one earphone plucked from his ear and dangling absently by his chest. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Rick says, and it’s a struggle to pretend he remembers how to breathe normally. A lot had happened in the past few weeks of his life—between his wife cheating on him with his _best friend_ , going to court about custody of his two children, and a job transfer.

To say the very least, he was exhausted.

Carl didn’t need to know that, though. “Yeah, Carl, I’m fine. Just thinking about how much unpacking I need to do,” It wasn’t completely a lie, but it was pretty see-through. Being a now single man, Rick Grimes didn’t have that many possessions on him.

“The house is nice,” Carl says, casually changing the subject. “Which side is yours?” When Rick had decided to move out of the town where his ex-wife and ex-best friend were starting their new life together, he’d chosen the first rental place he could find: an old Victorian duplex house. The grey walls were bleak and plain, the only admirable assets being the large front porch and fenced in backyard; the side doors raised up on plain grey porches five steps high.

“Left side,” Rick replied. _The one furthest from the driveway_ , he chose to pass over. As if on some queue, a pair of black ears appeared in one of the windows of his new neighbors house, and only moments later booming barks reach their ears.

“Doggy!” Judith squealed, removing her fist from her mouth to clap her hands together. Her feet kicked the back of Rick’s seat in excitement as the dog planted its front paws on the window and continued to bark. As an indistinguishable body appeared next to the dog and the barks were silenced, Rick realized with a hollow feeling that he never met his new neighbors.

Out the side door flew young women who was still in the process of tying her shoulder length, brown hair back as she skipped down the stairs toward the car, a bright smile on her face. “You must be the new neighbor our landlord was talking about,” She grinned as Rick stepped out of the car. Her hand shot towards him with little hesitance. “I’m Maggie Greene.”

“Rick Grimes,” He took her hand and stiffly shook, biting the inside of his cheek, feeling pinned under her smiling eyes. The door flung open again with a shriek of rusty hinges and the dog shot out, claws scrambling as it took the stairs two at a time. Its black body barreled into their legs as it skidded to a halt, panting and quietly huffing. Rick studied the canine for a moment, identifying it as an all black German shepherd—he’d seen them as K-9 cops multiple times.

“That’s Atlanta,” The girl—Maggie—informed, leaning down slightly to pat the massive dog’s head. Carl had scrambled out of the car to grab Judith, and now both children were staring at the dog in awe. Noticing the kids, Maggie grinned wider. “She’s really friendly, just reach out your hand and let her sniff it.”

Carl hesitantly put Judy down, taking a moment to make sure the three year old was steady on her feet, and reached out his hand. Atlanta leaned forward cautiously, her wet black nose nudging at Carl’s hand before a pink tongue slipped out to lap at lean fingers. The boy let out a surprised yelped and immediately giggled.

“She likes me!” He gasped crouching down. The dog happily crowded into his space, and he wrapped his arms around her neck as she assaulted his face with licks. Judith let out a shriek of excitement and hopped forward, getting her own share of love. The term “gentle giant” was completely accurate, considering the dog stood taller than the toddler.

“She likes everyone!” Maggie laughed and Rick found a real smile forming on his face. The dog turned to him, the sunshine turning her eyes copper, and Rick felt the stress leave his body momentarily. Maggie angled her body to Rick as the dog and kids took off towards the backyard. “It gets a bit hectic around here, just warning you now.”

“I have two kids,” Rick said with a shrug, matching her smile. “Hectic is officially my lifestyle.”

The girl laughed. “Well, good.” her hands made their way to her hips and she turned to study the car and moving trailer attached to the tailgate. “We can help you unpack—my roommate and I, I mean.”

Rick’s eyes shot up to meet hers. “Roommate?”

“Well I mean,” She started, frowning and bringing her thumb up to chew on a hangnail. “What do you consider a roommate? We live together, but we’re just friends. Siblings, really,” The grin was back on her face as she said: “Bro from another hoe.”

Rick let out a snort and she hid her snicker behind her wrist just as a man stepped out onto the side porch, eyes narrowed against the sun. He stepped down the stairs slowly, watching Rick with a dash of hostility, lips thinned and brow furrowed. He slowly slid into place beside Maggie, left arm tucked behind his back, noticeably pressing closer to her. Maggie picked at the hem of her black t-shirt as the man studied Rick silently. Rick—call it a cop’s instinct—gave the stranger a quick once-over: loose red t-shirt, loose grey sweatpants that hung low at the hip, sun-darkened brown hair, and deep set blue eyes.

Rick holds out his hand. “Rick Grimes,” he introduces himself, challenging.

He gets a sneer in return, and the left arm is pulled out from hiding and reached toward him.

Rick forces himself to remain neutral as the soft, living flesh of his hand connects with cold, black metal. The prosthetic connects at the shoulder, he observes, hidden by the material of the shirt.

“Daryl Dixon, welcome to the neighborhood,” the man greets, almost sarcastically. Rick counters with a forced, tightlipped smile. _So it’s gonna be like that?_

“How’d you lose it?” He questions, eyes drifting to study the fake arm. “If you don’t mind my asking,” he adds after a second of pausing, making sure a note of sarcasm dripped into his voice.

“On the job.” Is Daryl’s curt reply.

“What’s your job?” He was careful not to overstep the boundaries that were no doubt put up.

“Firefighter,” Daryl sneers, tucking his left arm back into hiding and standing a few inches behind Maggie. “We both are.”

Rick nods thoughtfully. “I’m a cop,” He explains, hoping to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere. Daryl’s hard shell seemed to have cracked and he looked a lot more vulnerable, seeming to drift further away by the second.

“Course you are,” Maggie cuts in, interrupting Daryl and what was bound to be a sarcastic comment. “You have the—,” her hand gave a wild gesture and the sentence fizzled, left hanging in the air with a huff. Rick gave an understanding nod; Shane used to tell him that people could tell they were cops the second they stepped into a room. And then he slept with Rick’s wife. The silence became awkward, Daryl turning his face away to chew on a hangnail while Maggie shifted her weight from foot to foot, the rubber soles of her boots scraping the asphalt

“Y’need help w’ that?” Daryl asked quietly, voice muffled by the thumb still stuck in his mouth. His cornflower blue gaze drifted over Rick’s shoulder to the stuffed car. Rick let out a whoosh of air.

“Yeah, actually,” He breathed out, running a hand through his curly hair and groaning at how greasy it felt. His confidence faltered when he realized how dirty and depressing he must look to his new neighbors: dirty brown, plaid button up, unshaved scruff on his face, and ashen grey jeans that matched the bags under his eyes. “Thank you, both.”

Maggie shrugged and put her hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “We like helping people.”

Rick dipped his head and smiled his thanks as Daryl brushed past him, nodding. All together, the three of them managed to unpack in about thirty minutes. With the kids still playing in the backyard with the dog, it was a pretty quiet thirty minutes. Initially, Rick thought Daryl would be the one to carry the least amount of boxes—for obvious reasons—but he lifted the heaviest ones with ease, flashing Rick cocky grins the whole time. At one point, Maggie disappeared in to her house, leaving Rick and Daryl sitting in the front yard, sweating and panting.

Rick leaned back into the soft green grass, throwing his arm over his face to block out the sun and listening to Daryl’s soft breathing. He was sitting to the man’s right, so he scanned his eyes over his remaining arm. It was crisscrossed with scars and freckles, and Rick could easily imagine his other arm looking exactly like that. Now it was just replaced with cold, black and silver metal, more advanced that any prosthetic he’d ever seen. Not that he’s seen a lot of prosthetics in his life.

With a defeated sigh, he allowed his eyes to drift shut, listening to Daryl let out a low whistle, no doubt calling for Atlanta. The uneven steps of a teen and a toddler almost immediately followed the sound of gentle paws padding against the ground. Rick sat up just in time to see the dog throw herself into Daryl’s lap, licking the man’s ear as he buried his face in the thick fur around her neck. Rick got a similar attack from his daughter, minus the licking, as Carl collapsed on the ground beside him.

“Hey Daryl,” Carl panted, grinning at the man around Rick.

“You know him?” Rick questioned, staring at Daryl and then Carl in confusion.

“He came out back before going out to the car with you,” Carl explained. Daryl lifted his head out of hiding and nodded.

“Wanted t’ make sure Atlan’a wasn’ botherin’ ‘em.” Daryl mumbled, opting to stare at his dog rather than Rick.

The father just nodded, silently thankful, and ruffled Carl’s hair. His son giggled and ran a finger down Judy’s soft cheek as the baby rubbed her hands over Rick’s scruffy cheeks. The silence was golden for a few moments; the only sounds being Atlanta’s muffled yelps as Daryl played some sort of game with her in the grass.

“Lunch is ready!” Maggie suddenly called from the front porch, and Rick twisted around in mortification. Daryl leapt up and dashed up the stairs, tripping over Atlanta who was obviously trying to beat him in the race for food.

“You didn’t have to—,” Rick starts, but Maggie cuts him off with a raised hand and a shake of her head.

“I _wanted_ to,” she said, leaning against the railing and smiling down at Rick and his children. “You guys are gonna have a long week, the least I could do is give you the impression that I’m a good neighbor and make you lunch,”

Rick’s shoulders shook with a laugh as she continued. “Though I must warn you, y’all’re gonna be very disappointed in a few weeks when you find out how lazy I really am.”

Carl laughed heartily and nudged Rick with his shoulder. “I like it here,” the boy said, getting to his feet and grabbing Judy’s pudgy hand. Maggie’s face softened at that, smiling at Rick hopefully. He nodded to Carl and his boy whooped, granted silent permission to swing his sister into his arms and leap up the stairs after Daryl, the house’s shadows swallowing them up.

Rick took the moment to press the heels of his hands on his eyes, applying pressure until he saw colorful, dancing phosphenes. He tried to focus on the sunshine on his shoulders, the happiness of his children, his kind neighbors. He urged his mind to not drift to Shane and Lori waving their car away as they pulled out of the driveway, the way they were probably planning on starting a new life together, how he only got his children on weekends. He sighed, deflating his body and resting his forearms on his bent knees and letting his head fall down.

“Rick…?” Maggie’s gentle voice followed the soft touch of her hand on his shoulder. He lifted his head up slowly to blink at her crouching beside him, and felt embarrassment flood his cheeks at the look of sympathy in her eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Rick nodded, reaching up to cover her hand with his. “Yeah it’s just… been a long month.”

Maggie puffed out her cheeks thoughtfully. “C’mon,” She said, getting to her feet and holding out her hand. “Lets go inside. Dare will eat all the food if we don’t hurry!” Gratefully, Rick grabbed her hand and heaved himself to his feet.

With a giggle, Maggie led him inside, down the long front hallway and into the kitchen. Daryl and the kids were gathered around a small square table, inhaling sandwiches from a platter in the center.  Carl had Judith on her lap and he was talking Daryl’s ear off, the man smiling around the food stuffed in his mouth while one hand—his real one—dangled from the table to absently graze the top of Atlanta’s head. Maggie and Rick took their seats, easily falling to the conversations of “The Biggest Fail of Your Life.  As they ate, Rick was surprised he could finally taste food again.

* * *

 

After lunch the final moving truck came and dropped off the rest of Rick’s furniture, and Rick and Daryl played the tricky game of trying to get the bed frames and mattresses upstairs. They stumbled multiple times, Rick almost fell down the stairs, which made Daryl laugh so hard _he_ almost fell down the stairs, and eventually Maggie and Carl had to leave their post with Judy and help them.

Finally, _finally_ , they got everything inside around 9 o’clock, when Judy had fallen asleep on the couch, leaning against Atlanta, and Carl had complained for the 100th time about how his feet hurt. Maggie stretched as they gathered in the living room, silently watching Judy’s chest rise in fall with the dog’s. Maggie’s arm reached above her head, knocking Daryl’s as a result of their bodies being pressed so close. The other man’s nose wrinkled and he poked gentle at her sides.

“Looks like you’re good here,” Daryl said, letting Maggie bury her face in his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her shoulder and he raised his eyebrows at Rick.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rick says, nodding and waving at them. “Go home, get some rest. I cannot thank y’all enough.”

Daryl shrugs. “It was nice not being introverts for once,” He grinned, shark-like. “I gotta get ‘er back ‘fore she falls asleep in yer livin’ room. Night, Rick,” He ducked down and swooped Maggie off her feet, muffling her giggle with his neck. Rick hurried to open the front door for him as he carried her bridle style, nodding to Rick without stopping.

“I like it here,” Carl repeats to him again as Rick’s covers him with blankets. The teen grumbles in complaint when Rick presses a kiss to his son’s forehead. “You can start over,” He continues, staring his father dead in the eye. “With Daryl, and Maggie. And Atlanta is easily the coolest dog—no, animal—I have ever met. I’m gonna be lookin’ forward to weekends even more, ‘cause I get to spend them here, with you.”

Rick was grateful for the darkness that hid his face as he shut off the light, because he was certain he was tearing up. “I made a good choice then, huh?” Carl laughed and nodded his head, sinking into his pillow.

“Night, Dad.”

“G’night, Carl.” He got up and closed to door quietly, taking a moment to compose himself before making his way to his room.

As Rick strode down the hallway, pausing to peek into Judith’s room one last time, he found his thoughts drifting to Daryl; his strangely handsome face, his strong body and muscular arm, the way he wasn’t slowed down by his prosthetic. Rick chuckled to himself as he stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed. He decided he liked the way his name sounded on Daryl’s tongue.

Rick fell asleep with a smile that night, for the first time in a long, long time.


	2. From the Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I'm sorry this is late omg. I had it all written out, and then I hated it, so I trashed it and rewrote it, and then my computer crashed and I lost it all. So. Yeah. I know, excuses excuses stfu Haley but y'know

# Chapter Two; From the Morning

 

“So Rick,” Maggie says, rushing back and forth throughout her house. How Rick got here; plopped down on her couch and watching her pace back and forth trying to get ready, he didn’t know. “You’re gonna introduce us to your wife, right?”

“Ex-wife,” Rick corrected, narrowing his eyes, as Maggie slipped on a utility belt. He jerked his head toward the brown leather around her waist. “Don’t cops usually wear those, not firefighters?”

Maggie stopped her haste and planted her hands on her hips. “You always have to be prepared, _Mr. Grimes_.”

He snorted and tuned into the low sound of Carl and Daryl’s voices talking in the other room. Although he couldn’t hear the words, the muffled cadence of their conversation seemed quiet and friendly. He rubbed his eyes as Maggie’s movement continued, groaning into the palms of his hands. It was only about 8 o’clock in the morning—a Monday morning, no less—and Rick hasn’t even had his coffee yet. Lori and Shane were supposed to be here any minute now to pick up the kids for the week, and then Rick had to start a new job.

“I’ll introduce you to my boyfriend,” Maggie says, closer to his ear than he expected. “Here.” She urges, and Rick looks up to see her holding a mug. The sweet aroma of coffee filled Rick’s senses and he gratefully accepted the mug, smiling his thanks.

“You have a boyfriend?” Rick asked after taking a sip of coffee, letting the creamy nectar chase away the sleep in his bones.

“Mmhm,” Maggie hums, taking her own mug of coffee off the table in front of the couch. “His name is Glenn, and if you ever order a pizza, he’ll probably be the one who delivers it.”

Rick let out a laugh, taking another sip of coffee. His body jerked in surprise as Atlanta’s booming barks started up, and coffee splashed on his white t-shirt.

“Damnit,” he hissed, hurriedly placing the mug next to Maggie’s on the table. He glanced behind him out the window and felt bile in his throat at the sight of Shane’s car. With a groan, he meets Maggie’s sympathetic gaze.

The girl holds out her hand, coaxing: “C’mon, you’re Rick fuckin’ Grimes. You can do this.”

“Dad!” Carl calls. “Mom’s here!”

“I know!” Rick shouts back, slowly getting up. Maggie pats him on the shoulder in mock comfort and he drags his feet into the kitchen. When he gets there, Daryl has Carl in a loose headlock, giving him a noogie while the boy struggles to free himself. Judith is seated on the ground a few feet away, drumming her hands on Atlanta’s torso as the dog blinks nonchalantly at the toddler.

“Alright,” Maggie laughs, stepping in between Daryl and Carl. “Break it up, the kids must go home and the big kids—,” she poked Daryl’s cheek gently. “Have to go to work.”

“Work is lame,” Daryl states, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s still wearing the red t-shirt and grey sweats from yesterday, and his hair is mussed up. But nevertheless, he bends down and scoops up Judith, handing her to Rick. His baby’s hair is pulled back in neat braids, one yellow flower stuck in between the right one, and Rick chuckles.

“You know how to braid?” He asked, smiling at Daryl. The man shrugged and slung his arm over Maggie’s shoulder.

“Grew up with Maggie,” He said, jerking his thumb at the woman. “Not ashamed of it. I’ll braid Carl’s too, if ya want.”

“No!” Carl yelped, grabbing his bag from the table and sprinting out the door. Atlanta leapt to her feet and let out one sharp bark, obviously offended at being left behind. Rick laughed weakly as the door swung shut, but it got caught in his throat when he heard a car door open and close.

            Maggie and Daryl stared at him expectantly, eyes sparkling with mirth, and Rick mustered up the courage to step outside. Judith squealed when she saw her mother, twisting in Rick’s arms to face her.

            Lori was clad in a yellow sundress, hair tied back in a braid. A smile formed on her lipstick stained mouth at the sight of her daughter, and she met Rick at the bottom of the stairs to take her from him.

            Lori kept her eyes on Judith as she said, “Morning, Rick.” She ran her hands over the braids on her head and smiled to herself. He clenched his jaw and averted his eyes from her, opting instead to look at Carl, who was talking to Shane.

            The other man was leaning against the hood of his car, nodding along to whatever Carl was talking about. His dark eyes kept glancing at Atlanta, who was lying on the warm asphalt at Carl’s feet, panting slightly. Carl let out a laugh, to which Shane echoed tightly.

            “You ready to go baby girl,” Lori cooed, bringing Rick’s attention back to them, “Say goodbye to Daddy now.”

            Judith leaned out of her mother’s arms enough for Rick to press his lips to her hair, the flower stuck in between her braids brushing his cheek. She hummed happily and gently smacked his shirt when he pulled back, tracing her cheek with his thumb.

            “See ya next weekend, Judy.”

            “Can’t leave without saying bye to me,” Maggie’s voice came up next to Rick and he jumped slightly. The woman reached out a hand to the toddler, running it over the braids, smiling widely.

            “You be good for yer mom ya hear,” Daryl boomed, coming up behind Rick’s other shoulder. He pointed a finger at Judy—Rick carefully noted that it was a real one—and made his visage one of false jurisdiction. “Or I’ll come find ya,” he raised his hand for a high five, placing his prosthetic on Rick’s shoulder. The cold metal sent brushed against the juncture between neck and shoulder, and goose bumps erupted on his skin.

            He just barely registered the high five between the man and his daughter—he did, though, notice the way Lori’s eyes drifted to Daryl’s left hand. For the first time that day, her gaze flickered to him, judging and accusing. If Daryl noticed, he didn’t show it, but his hand did slip off Rick’s shoulder. He called for Atlanta and quickly disappeared inside the house, something Rick would’ve found out of the ordinary if it was anyone but Daryl.

            “Walk with us to the car,” Lori hissed, turning and walking down the porch steps. Rick turned to Maggie, rolling his eyes slightly, and the woman nodded sympathetically before going inside the house after her partner, holding the door open for Atlanta.

            “Was that a fake arm?” Lori questioned as soon as they made it to the car. She ducked into the backseat to put Judith inside her car seat, obviously waiting for Rick to explain everything. Instead, he hugged Carl, who had drifted to his side. He murmured his goodbyes, still watching Lori’s back suspiciously.

            “Yeah,” Rick uttered when Carl got into the car, making sure to keep his voice low and firm. “He lost it on the job—he’s a firefighter.”

            “He has a fake arm, Rick,” Lori snapped, turning and facing him. She looked completely baffled, starting at Rick with her mouth hanging open and eyes wide. “And you let him around our children.”

            “He’s not a murderer,” Rick snarled, fully aware of how confused he must sound. “He lost an arm saving someone and you’re concerned that he’s around the children?” He turned away, scoffing.

            “Rick—”

            “No Lori,” He turned on her sharply, casting Shane a glare too. “He lost an arm, he still has a soul. Get over yourself. See you next weekend.”

            He didn’t wait to see them climb in the car, or pull away. He stomped past Daryl and Maggie’s front porch until he reached his, taking the stairs two at a time. He yanked the door open and slammed it shut, willing himself to calm down.

            _“It’s a new day, Rick!”_ Maggie had told him when she knocked on his door at 6 am, wide-awake and smiling. _“Let’s make it a good one, eh?”_

* * *

 

            _Daryl remembers that day all too well. The way the flame’s burning region clashed with the cool air of the fall night. There was hardly any fresh, clean air to breathe—and yet he gasped for breath. Ash was sucked into his lungs, burning his throat on its way. The smoke that danced in the air left limited visibility, leaving their eyesight equivalent to an elderly. Shadows and flashes were just barely distinguishable, let alone solid shapes. Atlanta paced nervously at his feet, breathing labored. Push forward, he told himself._

_“There’s a child in there!”_

* * *

 

            “We could carpool to the station,” Maggie suggested, standing with her hand cupping her chin in the driveway, staring at the cars with her lips pursed. “The police station is only about a blocks walk from there—if you don’t mind walking. Saves gas.”

            “Naw,” Daryl disagreed, shaking his head. “If there’s an emergency and we need the car he’ll be stuck there.”

            “I’m sure _someone_ would be willing to give him a ride home,” Maggie countered, and Rick groaned from in between the arguing duo.

            “I’ll take my own car, okay?” He sighed, and Daryl stuck his tongue out at Maggie. “We can carpool some days, I guess, if you really want to,” he added, dipping his head to Maggie, who stuck her tongue out at Daryl.

Both Daryl and Maggie had changed into matching outfits of black t-shirts and black jeans, with Daryl’s hair pulled back into a loose ponytail and Maggie’s falling to her shoulders. The man looked strangely foreign like this; skin-tight shirt that matched the cold metal of his arm, hair pulled back to make his eyes look brighter and more alive.

            “Sounds good, boss,” Daryl hummed, slapping Rick on the shoulder. The sun-warmed metal felt pleasant on Rick’s shoulder blades, and left a spike of cold when it disappeared.

            “Good luck, then,” Maggie chimes softly, rubbing Rick’s shoulder in an act of comfort. She circled around Daryl’s red pick up to the passenger seat and smiled.

            “G’luck, Rick,” Daryl drawls, and Rick nods. They make quite a sight, he decides, all three of them piled into the front of a truck. Daryl at the wheel, Atlanta happily panting in the middle, and Maggie with her feet kicked up on the dashboard in the passenger side. He sighs as they pull out, returning the waves they send his way. His car suddenly seems miles away instead of feet.

            He follows their car to the fire station, an old brick building with a bell tower, and keeps driving in the direction they pointed him in. The police station itself was nothing to be admired, just a bleak looking grey and blue building. A few cruisers were parked out front, and a group of people clad in the same blue uniform Rick was were walking in the door.

            With a shaking sigh, Rick leaned his head forward until it connected to the steering wheel with a dull thud. It felt like the first day of high school all over again; the butterflies, the nerves, and the overwhelming need to make a good first impression. His hands gripped the wheel white-knuckled, and clenched his teeth together until he heard them grind. He raised his head to look at his watch. _9 o’clock, six more hours. I can do this._

-

            Evidently, he could, and he did.

            About as uneventful as first days go, the day wasn’t completely unbearable. It was pleasant, almost—impossibly boring, but not horrible. He met his boss, an old, balding, pudgy man with mustard in his white mustache, and two other officers who he’d be working alongside: Tyreese and Sasha Williams. They were perhaps the nicest people Rick had ever met, and they showed him around with graceful generosity.

            Rick still couldn’t wait to get home. Despite the overall enjoyable experience, the day still dragged on. When three o’clock finally rolled around, Ty gave Rick a clap on the shoulder and a kind smile as Rick made for his car. The brother-sister team waved him away when he pulled his car out of the parking lot, driving just a little bit over the speed limit in his haste to get home.

            Daryl’s truck was in the driveway when Rick pulled in, the man himself settled on the porch. He was bent over, with Atlanta in between his knees, running a comb through her black fur. He looked up at the sound of Rick’s car pulling in, releasing the dog for a moment to wave. Atlanta took the opportunity and fled, leaping down the stairs and meeting Rick as he got out of his car.

            She weaved her lithe body around his legs, her tail wagging her entire body as she panted and licked his hands in excitement. Rick couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been this happy to see him, and he kneeled down to pat the thick fur around her neck, which was now silky from the brushing. She licked his face and nuzzled into his neck for a moment before pulling away and answering Daryl’s low whistle.

            Rick followed her up the porch steps to Daryl, who sat the dog down in front of him and continued grooming. Daryl looked up at him and smiled, using his prosthetic to reach behind him and pull out a can of beer, handing it to Rick expectantly.

            “Nice job grooming,” Rick cooed mockingly, nodding his thanks and cracking open the beer tab. The can hissed as the pressure was released, and Rick plopped down on the chair on Daryl’s left with a grin. “Ever think about doing it professionally?”

            “I never told you?” Daryl gaped, feigning confusion. He shifted his weight just enough to brush his shoulder against Rick’s with a grin. “I went to college for it.”

            Both men laughed for a moment, before falling into a comfortable silence, content on listening to Atlanta’s quiet snores from where she lay at Daryl’s feet on the sun-warmed deck. Rick brought the can to his lips, humming as the cold metal brushed against his chin, condensation dripping. He felt like Daryl was watching him while he swallowed down a sip of the alcohol, but when he turned to look at the firefighter, he was staring down at his dog.

            “Is this what neighbors do?” Daryl asked quietly, taking a sip of his own beer. “Sit on the porch and drink beer when they’ve only known each other for a day?” He turned to face Rick, brows furrowed in honest, innocent confusion. Rick shrugged.

            “I dunno,” Rick answered honestly, bumping Daryl’s shoulder with his own again. Daryl smiled a tiny smile, and ducked his head again, running his real hand over Atlanta’s ears. “I’m not complaining, though,” he added quietly, watching Daryl for his reaction.

            “Same,” the man replied, even quieter. His shoulders shook with a sudden laughter and he grinned at Rick again before they fell into silence again.

            Rick gazed up the street blankly, blinking when he spotted a figure jogging towards them. It took him a moment, but he recognized it as Maggie when she slowed down in the driveway, pulling out her headphones and making her way to the porch. She had swapped her all black clothes and Timberland boots for athletic shorts (that looked too big on her—probably Daryl’s, Rick noted) and a black tank top.

“Hey Rick,” she greeted, dragging out the ‘hey’ with a flamboyant grin. She skipped up the stairs and planted a kiss on Daryl’s cheek whilst simultaneously patting Atlanta’s head. “How was your first day at work?” She happily perched on Daryl’s lap, running her slim fingers through his locks of hair.

“Pretty good,” Rick responded honestly, beaming. “Boring I guess, but everyone was pleasant.”

             “Good,” Maggie smiled. “So you can make my party tonight?”

            “Maggie,” Daryl groaned. “Let the man rest.”

            “He’s resting right now!”

            “Mags—”

            “Whoa, what party?” Rick croaked, interrupting the bickering.

            “It’s my little sister’s birthday party,” Maggie giggled, twisting a lock of Daryl’s hair around her finger. “It’ll be a great meet-and-greet opportunity for you!” Her voice turned playfully pleading and she pushed her bottom lip out. “You can meet my dad and my boyfriend and all our friends and you won’t be a lonely dad anymore.”

            “I’m _not_ a lonely dad,” Rick bit out, pouting. He gaped at the disbelieving looks he got in reply: Maggie’s sympathetic tilt of the head and the amused glint in Daryl’s eye. He growled in defeat. “Fine, _fine_. I’ll go.”

            “Yay!” Maggie whooped, leaping from Daryl’s lap and jumping up and down. She clasped her hands together. “You’ll love everyone, I promise!” She was twirling around and disappearing inside the house before Rick could even figure out what he’d gotten himself into.

            Daryl smiled at him sympathetically. “Her family is really great—you’re lucky it ain’t my family,” He got up and clapped Rick on the shoulder. “They’re assholes.”

            Rick returned the smile and murmured, “Same with mine.”

            “Its casual, if ya get dressed up I’ll laugh at ya,” Daryl continued lightheartedly, brightening the atmosphere before it got too gloomy. “Head over ‘round five, a’ight?”

            “Yeah,” Rick nodded, patting Atlanta before hopping the railing to his own porch. “See ya.”

            He didn’t turn to see Daryl mutter, “Goodbye, Rick,” because he was sure it would’ve killed him. He spent the next few hours remembering what Daryl looked like in a skin-tight shirt with his hair pulled back. 

-

            It was around five that cars started filing into their small, shared driveway, and greetings and exchanges were heard. Rick swapped his work clothes for a plain maroon t-shirt and black jeans, casual enough, he decided. He groaned and poured himself a glass of water, cursing himself. _I used to be so social,_ he thought with a groan, gulping down the water. _I really am a lonely dad._ He dumped the glass in the sink alongside all the other dirty dishes he was neglecting to deal with, and made his way to Daryl and Maggie’s front door.

            The door was yanked open before Rick could get a second knock on the plumb surface. Maggie beamed at him; hair tucked behind her ears and dressed up in a blue sweater and jeans.

            “You made it!” she squealed, yanking him inside by his wrist and shoving him none-to-gently into the living room. “Come meet everyone! Everyone this is Rick, our new neighbor!” A chorus of hellos greeted Rick as he bent down to rub his hand under Atlanta’s chin.

A pretty blonde girl—she must’ve been eighteen or younger—skipped up to him and held out her hand. She looked like those models you see showing off cute clothes, attired in a soft pink sweater and black leggings. “Beth Greene,” She introduced as Rick accepted her hand, shaking gently. “Maggie’s little sister.”

“So this is your birthday party?” Rick inquired, offering a smile. “Happy birthday.”

            Beth giggled and thanked him, twirling away to go stand beside an older man by the couch. Daryl replaced her, smiling at her back before turning to Rick. He was still wearing the same outfit as before, but his hair was down and he was barefoot.

            “Lemme introduce you properly,” he said lowly, jerking his head in the direction of the group of people. There were only five other people; Rick counted quickly, letting out a silent sigh of relief. Not as many as he expected. It was a little less nerve wrecking.

            They stopped first by the old man with the kind smile and full, white beard. “This is Hershel,” Daryl explained, standing aside as Rick and Hershel shook hands. “Maggie and Beth’s dad.”

            “Nice to meet you, son,” Hershel rasped. He reminded Rick of those Santa’s at the mall: strangely familiar and comforting. “Maggie told me a lot about you.”

            Rick choked out a laugh, fleetingly wondering when Maggie had the time to do that. “There’s not much to know.”

            “Moving on,” Daryl cleared his throat and tugged on Rick’s shirtsleeve. “Michonne and Andrea Harrison,” he introduced next, walking up to a pair of women and waving his hand at each in turn.

Michonne, dark skinned with an intimidating smile and dreads, and Andrea, pale with blonde hair and a kind up turn of her lip. Rick shook hands with each one of them in turn, cautiously staring at Michonne who, honestly, scared him. She reminded him of those female superheroes in Carl’s comic books.

“Our vagabond lesbian wives,” Daryl chuckled, slinging his arm around Michonne’s shoulder. The woman punched him gently on the abs and grinned.

“He just loves introducing us that way,” Andrea sighed, taking a sip of red wine. “To be fair, it’s completely accurate. This is the first time we’ve been in Georgia in about… I’d say six months?”

“We just got back from India,” Michonne purred, eyes drifting closed as she reminisced. “So much fun.” She dragged out the ‘o’ sound and sighed wistfully. “Next week we’re going to Alaska.”

Rick gaped and laughed. “If I could live one day the way y’all live your whole lives.”

“That’s what I say!” Daryl exclaimed, untangling himself from Michonne and dragging Rick away. A young Asian boy was Daryl’s next target of introduction, looking about Maggie’s age and standing with his arm around the woman’s shoulders when they approached.

“Rick,” he greeted immediately, taking Rick’s hand and shaking enthusiastically. “Glenn, Maggie’s boyfriend.”

Rick blinked for a moment and laughed weakly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Daryl snorted. “I dunno how he landed her either.”

“Fuck you,” Glenn retorted, lacking any real venom. “You’re just mad ‘cause she loves me more than you do.”

“You _wish_ ,” Daryl sneered, leaning into Glenn’s face. “Fight me,” he challenged with good nature, and before Rick could get another coherent thought through his brain, Daryl had the younger man in a headlock and they were tumbling into the other room.

Maggie chuckled and shook her head, grabbing Rick’s forearm gently and tugging him along. “They love each other,” she insisted, walking him to a quiet corner of the room. A woman already occupied it, clad in a grey cardigan and white leggings. She daintily held a wine glass between lithe, pale fingers, and offered a soft, barely visible smile when they approached.

“Last but not least, Carol,” Maggie said, and all enthusiasm and lightheartedness failed momentarily. Rick, being a cop, didn’t fail to notice the tremendously guilty look Maggie shot at her before staring down at her feet. Deciding to ignore it—for now—Rick shook Carol’s hand.

“Good,” Maggie choked out, a little too loud and sudden. “Well. Uh—I’ll be going have fun bye,” and she was out of the room in the blink of an eye. Rick watched the doorway she disappeared through in confusion before turning to Carol.

“Poor girl,” the grey haired woman whispered, shaking her head. “I don’t think they’ll ever look at me the same way again…”

“What—” Rick started, but someone calling his name cut him off. He turned and saw Hershel leaning against the doorframe, beckoning Rick with a tilt of his head. Hesitantly, Rick turned back to Carol, who gave him a confirming nod, and he slowly made his way to the old man’s side.  Hershel jerked his head towards the dining room. Rick peered in, heart sinking immediately.

Maggie and Daryl were there, distinguishable only by their silhouettes. Maggie was saying something frantically, waving her hands in front of her chest and shaking her head. Daryl’s right arm reached up and stroked her cheek before he pulled her into a tight hug, completely unaware of Hershel and Rick’s eyes.

_Oh._

 _ __She’s crying._ __

“Things break, Rick,” Hershel murmured. Maggie pulled away and nodded, saying something inaudible. Her hands wiped away what Rick knew to be tears as Daryl continued to stroke her cheek. “But they can still grow.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love that Hershel quote


	3. Pancakes and Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so first of all I'm sooooo sorry for not updating sooner :( I really wanted to update after that awesome Maryl episode we had (that yes, I cried really hard over), but the chapter just wasnt ready. I kept deleting it and rewriting it and it just would NOT come out, like damn. I know I know, stop with the excuses Haley sob sob.

_“You’re dogs are here to protect you. She will warn you when a building is too dangerous to be inside anymore. Listen to her always.”_

_Atlanta never shied away from fire. She laughed at fear, afraid of nothing. She’d follow Daryl and Maggie into any burning building with determination in her dark eyes and purpose in her step. She loved saving people—simple as that. She was like Daryl in that way. Their purpose, their life, was to save people. They were good at it and they loved it._

_They both failed that day._

* * *

 

Rick spent the remainder of the party with one eye on Maggie and Daryl. After the incident in the hallway, the two seemed perfectly normal, besides the way their eyes would cast downwards when they spoke with Carol. It wasn’t rude, he observed. They weren’t being unpleasant or crude to her. They just looked… guilty.

The word seemed to be the only fit for the occasion. Rick has seen officers look that way countless times—usually around those they failed. Once Shane had to arrest a teen, and Rick remembers the normally stoic man couldn’t even look the mother in the eye.

Perspective is key, Rick decides.

To look at a situation from an outsider’s point of view was ignorant and shallow; you learn nothing from the facts you already know. So Rick watches with trained eyes; notices, and observes, and makes mental notes on the way Maggie and Daryl move around the crowd.

Ultimatly, he learned nothing, and the party past and ended in a haze. It seemed like only seconds had passed before he was swept outside onto the porch and murmuring goodbye to Daryl. Rick felt the man’s eyes trained on him the whole five seconds it took him to get to his own front door, but when he turned to wave one last time, Daryl was gone. The dark, empty porch mocked him.

Rick slipped into a dreamless sleep that night.

-

An annoying, rhythmic buzzing dragged Rick from sleep. His first thought was _alarm clock_ but it seemed far too early for that—earlier than usual. Blue eyes shot open with a gasp, and his hand shot out to feel for his ringing phone. The caller ID showed a blurry _Daryl Dixon_ , and Rick groaned when he red 2:21 am on the digital clock.

“Why?” he answered, blunt from exhaustion.

“Emergency,” Daryl hissed, voice low on the other line. “Up and at it.”

“Emer—?”

“Station called,” Daryl explained, and the sound of a car pulling out of the driving was what finally dragged Rick out of sleep. “Mags just left in my truck, we’re taking your car. _Hurry._ ”

They hung up without saying goodbye.

Rick shot up out of bed, scrambling for his uniform. It had been folded nicely in the top drawer of his dresser, before it was ripped out and thrown on.. He fumbled with the buttons, cursing himself. He grabbed his gun belt and Colt Python and flew down the stairs and out the front door.

He hopped off the porch and crashed into Daryl in the dark, sending the firefighter tumbling back. He landed with a dull thud somewhere in the shadows of early morning, followed by Atlanta’s yelp. Rick looked down, ready to apologize, but Daryl was already clambering off Atlanta’s black body and into the passenger side of the cruiser. Rick groaned and followed.

They were in the car and out the driveway before either of them could share a word.

The streetlights cast a ghostly, orange glow as the car raced down the street in the gray dawn. All Rick could hear was Atlanta’s panting from where she sat in Daryl’s lap. He turned to look at the pair, finding it almost amusing how he could just barely see the top of Daryl’s messy hair behind the mass of black dog. A pair of blue eyes stared back at him.

“Off girl,” Daryl grunted lightheartedly, shoving at his dog. “In the back, c’mon I can’t breathe!” Atlanta huffed and hopped gracefully into the back seat, curling up on the cold leather with her muzzle on her front paws.

“Where’re we headed?” Rick asked, stifling a yawn behind his hand.

“Simon Street,” Daryl murmured, echoing Rick’s yawn. “There’s a fire, and a suspect they want ya to bring into custody.”

Rick nodded and they fell into silence again, only ever speaking when Daryl had to tell Rick which way to turn. The sounds of the tires on the pavement and Atlanta’s soft snores were all Rick heard. The adrenaline Rick initially felt when charging down his stairs and into the muggy night was slowly fading, and the cop could only pray that some sort of coffee was waiting for them at their destination.

After about ten minutes, Rick started to notice a shift in the atmosphere. The orange glow was no longer sourced solely from the streetlights, and the air seemed to thicken with heat and smoke. Daryl shot him a glance, and Atlanta was suddenly wide-awake, forepaws on the compartment between the front seats. Her ears were pricked and her panting ceased. The car became completely silent.

When the fire came into view, after Rick had slowed the vehicle into a slow crawl down the last few blocks, Atlanta let out a bark. It was more of a yelp, actually, as the dog turned around in the back seat, alternating windows to stare out at. Rick slowed the car to a complete stop and observed the scene from the safety of his car, seeing Daryl shifting around out of the corner of his eye.

“Let’s go find Maggie,” Daryl murmured, voice muffled by the thumbnail stuck in his mouth. Rick nodded hesitantly. There were fire trucks, cruisers, and ambulances scattered in the parking lot outside the apartment complex, overwhelming and crowded. It gave Rick a shot of excitement to be back on the job, for real this time.

“Right.” Rick nodded, stepping out of the police car. Immediately he inhaled smoke, coughing deeply twice before following Daryl and Atlanta to the crowd.

Atlanta kept low to the ground, crouching under the smoke line so the soft furs of her belly just brushed the ground. Rick drew his gaze over the rippling muscles under her coat and swallowed. _Not something I want to have pissed at me._ Her owner stalked along too, covering his mouth and nose with black metal that morbidly matched his dog’s fur.

When they finally reached the assemblage of vehicles and officers, Maggie broke through the crowd. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, loose strands plastered on her forehead by sweat. She looked frantic and instantly ran to Daryl, wrapping her skinny arms around his waist. Daryl pushed at her shoulder after a moment and she pulled back and straightened herself. Daryl stared bleakly over her shoulder.

“Tha’s Glenn’s apartment,” The firefighter breathed, Adam’s apple shifting as he swallowed heavily. Maggie followed his gaze over her shoulder, nodding slowly.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Maggie choked out, coughing as a new gust of smoke filtered behind the wall of fire trucks and cruisers. Daryl nodded and accepted a uniform from a passing officer.

 Rick stood by awkwardly as they clambered into the beige coats, until a familiar body appeared at his side. Sasha came up to his shoulder, hip cocked and lips pursed. She looked exhausted, obviously affected by the chaos in the direction she came from.

“C’mon,” she coaxed, eyeing Maggie and Daryl strangely before nodding. “The chief wants to see us.” Rick looked over her shoulder at the bustling crowd of police officers and officials, calling out orders.

“Right,” Rick cleared his throat, smoke burning his eyes and throat as he struggled to focus on the sweat on Sasha’s dark cheeks. He shook his head and turned to Maggie and Daryl, who were dressed up fully in their heavy attire, buckling their helmets under their chins. “Hey,” he said, trying to get their attention. Daryl shot a look his way but quickly looked down at his feet, pulling on gloves. “ _Hey.”_ Rick repeated, coaxing for the duo’s attention. “Be safe, okay?”

Maggie grinned brightly behind her thick helmet, voice muffled by the material. “We always are.” and before Rick could get another word in, Daryl dipped down and placed a single hefty pat on Atlanta’s head, and the three turned toward the burning building. Maggie waved once over her shoulder, then the smoke swallowed them.

Rick gritted his teeth and turned just as he heard someone shout. The sound of the hoses blasting water out greeted Rick’s turned back, and his fists clenched.

* * *

 

Rick didn’t know how long they’d been out there—calling emergency contacts, reassuring paranoid relatives, and taking care of residents—but eventually the sun came up. The world had turned pale gray when Rick finally looked up from reading a little girl a book in the back of an ambulance, the anemic sky darkened by smoke. Rick coughed and finally turned toward the building, something he’d forced himself not to do all night.

“The smoke is white,” the little girl—Mika—said, small voice weakened by the invading fumes. Rick tore his gaze away from the blackened brick building to stare softly down at her. “That means the fires out,” she explained matter-of-factly.

Rick chuckled and nodded, placing his hand on the back of her neck gently.

“Go with your sister and try to get some sleep, okay?” he murmured pointedly, raising his eyebrows at her yawn. She nodded, still yawning, and crawled back into the truck to cuddle up next to her sister, already sound asleep.

Rick stood up and stretched, legs stiff from sitting for so long. A passing officer with a tray of coffee stopped and offered Rick a cup, and Rick gratefully accepted it, thanking him in earnest. He glanced around the scene, turned ghostly from the soft dawn light. His tired blue eyes scanned the clusters of firefighters, willfully searching out two familiar faces.

“Rick,” Maggie’s voice called softly from behind him, and he turned to face her, feeling oddly relieved. “Hey,” she smiled, holding her own cup of coffee. She was still wearing the heavy pants and boots that came with her uniform, but her jacket was replaced with a black muscle shirt that looked far too big on her: _Daryl’s_.

He didn’t quite know when they started hugging, but the young firefighter was pulling away and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “C’mon,” she coaxed, tugging on his wrist. She led him through the dew damp lawn, back to a recognizable red pick up truck.

Glenn was there, sitting up on the tailgate in the middle of two sleeping girls, talking to an older woman that Rick presumed to be his mother. The younger man looked up as they approached, smiling and adjusting the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“Everyone alright?” Rick asked, forcing his over tired voice into a strong one, no matter how much it wanted to crack from exhaustion. He got tired mumbles and nods as answers. Only just satisfied, Rick leaned against the truck, glancing behind him into the bed and smiling at the scene that greeted him.

Daryl was curled up, body against the back window of the truck’s cab, still dressed in his uniform. Atlanta was curled up on his lap, back on his legs and paws sprawled in the air next to his face, black nose buried in his chest. His strong arms limping wrapped around her, the dark metal of his left hand just barely distinguishable from the dogs ebony coat. There was a smudge of flaking ash on Daryl’s cheek, patterned by wisps of dark brown hair. Atlanta’s black fur was polka dotted with pale grey ash, her chest rising and falling in sync with her owner’s.

“Quiet, they need sleep,” Maggie whispered, hand gently coming up to rest on Rick’s shoulder. “You should go home, get some rest.”

“Cant leave yet,” Rick yawned, watching the pair for a moment more before turning and following Maggie a few yards away. “I got some stuff I should do here—”

“Naw,” the woman purred, reaching up and brushing away a curl that had fallen onto Rick’s brow. “More people are comin’ in to replace all of us. I’m gonna stay here with Glenn; you go home.”

Rick nodded, chewing the inside of his lip in thought. The sound of approaching footsteps got both Maggie and Rick’s attention, the conversation put on hold as Daryl stop a few feet away, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He was wearing his black t-shirt and ashen jeans again. When he finally stopped rubbing, pulling his hand away from his eyes and blinking a few times, he turned to Rick.

“Wanna go get some breakfast?” he asked, scratching his head and making his bed head all the more messy.

“What?” Rick asked, half-amused and half-confused, watching the man with an odd feeling of affection.

“Wanna go get some breakfast?” Daryl repeated, staring at Rick like he was stupid. “Y’know, like pancakes and shit?”

Rick chuckled and rubbed his stubbly chin. “Yeah, I know what breakfast is. Yeah sure, where do you have in mind?”

“Cool,” Daryl grinned. “I know a great little diner that always lets Atlanta come in and eat sausage.”

Maggie laughed and hugged him, tucking herself under Daryl’s real arm and squeezing. “Better make sure you let her go to the bathroom first. We don’t want another incident like that ag—”

“Whoa, hey now,” Daryl grunted, pushing at Maggie’s shoulders. “That was _one_ time, damn it.”

Rick joined in with Maggie’s laughter, rubbing his own eyes in an effort to keep sleep away. Daryl jerked his head in the direction of Rick’s cruiser, walking over to the passenger side with his arm still slung around Maggie. Atlanta was already in the back seat, sitting up with her chest pushed out like she was proud of being alive. Rick smiled at her as he got into the front seat, letting her lick his nose as he put the coffee in the cup holder.

“Hey girl,” Rick murmured, scratching behind her soft ears. He stole a glance at Maggie and Daryl outside the car, Daryl leaning his prosthetic hand on the open passenger side door.

“Okay, honey, be careful okay?” Maggie was saying, hands on Daryl’s biceps, rubbing up and down his arm and tapping her foot.

“Yes, _mom_ ,” Daryl purred, ducking into the car with a heavy thud. “It’s jus’ breakfast. Be home soon. Go be with Glenn, a’ight?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maggie mumbled, chewing on her nail. “Have fun,” she said, waving as they pulled out of the crowed parking lot.

“She worries too much,” Daryl grunted, but his voice held affection. He brought his hand up to his mouth and chewed on his thumbnail, much to Rick’s amusement.

“Did she get that from you or did you get that from her?” Rick asked. Daryl stared at him in confusion for a moment, before pulling his thumb away from his face and blinking at it. He snorted and made an ‘ _I dunno’_ sound in his throat. Rick snickered, sipping his coffee. “Where we headin’?”

“Take a left, then two streets down a right. Can’t miss it,” Daryl yawned, kicking his feet up on the dashboard and tipping his head back. Rick smiled at him for a few moments before turning back to the road, trying to focus all his energy to not fall asleep.

* * *

 

“So why does this diner let Atlanta come in?” Rick asked, slipping into a teal colored booth. Sunlight made the table almost blinding to look at. Daryl slipped in across from him, patting the seat to invite the black dog up. Rick was amused by her nonchalant attitude, calmly curling up on the seat with her head on Daryl’s lap. “Isn’t it like… against the health codes?”

“Rude,” Daryl snorted cheerfully, patting his dog.

Rick grinned at him disbelievingly.

“Nah, the owners just love us ‘nd stuff. Bendin’ the rules a li’le bit ‘long as she don’t, y’know, shit or piss anywhere.”

Rick laughed and nodded. “Right, my bad.”

Daryl smiled at him, eyes sparkling. Rick held his gaze for a second, feeling warmth flood his veins, until a waitress came over and their eye contact was reluctantly broken. They both ordered coffee and pancakes, with a side of bacon, earning a smile from the pretty waitress.

“How’s Maggie?” she asked, scribbling their orders down on the pad of paper. She glanced up and eyed Daryl, and Rick didn’t miss the flirtatious curl of her lips. He tried really hard to pretend that didn’t piss him off.

“She’s okay,” Daryl replied, to busy making a pyramid out of the small plastic jam packages to notice the seductive way they blonde tilted her hips. Annoyed, the waitress snatched the menus and strutted off, leaving Rick chuckling softly and watching Daryl.

The firefighter cursed under his breath when his tower when one too high and the whole thing came crashing down, scattering the plastic rectangles all over the table. He met Rick’s eye with his lips pursed, eyes narrowing when he caught sight of Rick laughing.

“Screw you,” Daryl growled with no real venom. “It’s harder than it looks.”

“Right, right,” Rick smoothes over, holding up his hands in an attempt at peace.

Daryl forgave him with a soft chuckle, hand reaching down to stroke the black dog lying next to him.

 Rick shifted his jaw, listening to the familiar grind and pop of the bone. “How long you had her?”

Daryl looked up sharply, surprised by the question. His brown hair shifted as his eyebrows quirked, and he moved his metallic hand to scratch at his chin. “‘Bout three years now, I think.”

“Did ya get ‘er from a breeder?”

“Hell naw,” Daryl said, nose wrinkling. “Saved her.”

Rick stared at him, content to stay silent until he got an explanation.

When Daryl noticed this, he continued. “Yeah, uh, the apartment the owners lived in burned down. She was the only one out of ‘er litter to live. Even ‘er mother died,” his eyes cast downward. “So’s I saved her and trained her ta be a fire dog.”

“Very noble,” Rick said earnestly, nodding to the waitress. The plates and mugs slide across the tables, causing Daryl to jerk his head up like he wasn’t paying attention. They thanked the girl absentmindedly, shooting forced smiles.

“Not really,” Daryl grumbled, picking bacon apart with his fingers. He ate it messily, licking his fingers one by one, the ligaments slipping from his mouth with a pop.

Rick shifted.

“It is,” he insisted, pouring syrup over his pancakes. He grinned wholeheartedly. “How’d you get that name Atlan’a?”

Daryl snorted, choking on his coffee. “We live in Georgia, and I was very unoriginal.”

Rick joined in on his amusement, offering his weak chuckle. The fatigue from working all night was catching up with him, but it felt good to laugh again. He let the heart-warming sight of Daryl laughing melt the stress away.


	4. Wet Paint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all -- this is completely unbeta'd, but i am posting it as soon as possible. second of all -- so sorry for not updating sooner. my love for this story vanished for a long time, between my Sometime in August planning and general writer's block. but finally I forced the first few paragraphs out of me, and the rest just flowed, and my love for it is, hopefully, back for good. reminder that you can find me on tumblr at normansreedus.tumblr.com (maryl.co.vu)! love u all xoxo

 

Rick dropped Daryl and Atlanta off back at Glenn’s apartment, getting stern instructions from Maggie to go home and rest. She informed him with a smile that they had the day off tomorrow, and gave him one more gentle push towards his cruiser. He obeyed, too tired to muster up the energy to fight her about it. He pulled into the shared driveway, his brain on autopilot, staring blankly at the dull house paneling. Slowly he gets out of the car, making his way across the lawn to his own porch.

He stops before his front door, fumbling with his keys only to find the door was still unlocked from their hasty retreat. Rick stumbled in, tossing his keys in the general direction of the bowl on the counter, and hardly registers that they missed and slid across the marble surface. He makes it to his couch before he collapses, asleep before his head hits the cushions.

* * *

When Rick wakes up, the shadows cast in his living room hint towards late afternoon, and he groans. Head spinning, he sits up and rubs his eyes until he can see colors dancing among the blackness. Outside, he hears muffled talking: one voice rusty and baritone, the other cheerful and singsong.

_Daryl and Maggie._

Clambering to his feet, Rick stares at his watch that reads noon and he groans again. With little alacrity he drags himself off the couch, head spinning. He decides that it’s in his best interest to change, cringing when he shifts and feels the sweat and grime clinging to his clothes. Still blurry-minded from sleep, he stumbles upstairs and changes into a white t-shirt and gray running shorts.

Rick hops down the stairs to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. It cools him down and wakes him up, an easy method that Rick is more than thankful for. He strains his ears, listening to the muffled conversation outside. Daryl’s saying something funny, because Maggie lets out a laugh. Rick chuckles and grabs three beers from his fridge, making his way outside.

The dynamic duo is broken up, Daryl on the porch, Maggie in the grass with Atlanta. They were tossing a football back and forth with Atlanta running between them, hopping up in the air when it soared over her head. Rick froze, mouth drying up, when he actually looked at Daryl. 

The firefighter was wearing a loose black tank top, sweat glistening his skin. Tattooed muscles rippled as he tossed the football back at Maggie with his prosthetic arm. On that very arm, his shoulder was scarred alarmingly, burns tracing up from under the black metal to dance along his collarbone, pink and raw looking; they disappeared under the fabric of the shirt. He was gorgeous, though, despite all the scars, the man was remarkably handsome. His long brown hair was pulled back into a bun and the smile on his face was real.

Rick watches them for a peaceful moment before clearing his throat. 

“Hey guys,” Rick says, holding up the beers. Maggie looks up just then, the football slipping through her grip. Daryl turns, arms still in position from throwing.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Daryl grins, relaxing his body. He happily accepts the beers from Rick, the cold metal of his fingers brushing against Rick’s warm ones. “We got some info on how the fire started.” 

“What?” Rick blinks, beer can poised an inch away from his lips, head cocked to the side.

Daryl shrugs and his lip pulls up slightly, just enough that no one would notice unless they were looking at him as closely as Rick was. “Y’didn’t think it just started itself, did’ya?”

Rick chews on the inside of his lips, considering the question. Maggie’s staring at him almost sympathetically, a soft smile on her face. Rick settles to tell the truth because that’s who he was – an honest man, even if it did risk a snort and a chuckle from his new neighbors.

“Figured it was a kitchen fire or something,” Rick answers with a shrug, then after a moment of being weighed down by Maggie and Daryl’s gazes, adds: “Somethin’ domestic.”

Daryl snorts and quirks an eyebrow at Rick’s choice of words. “Domestic?”

“You know what I meant,” Rick quips back. Daryl rolls his eyes and settles back into one of the porch chairs. Maggie follows his lead while Rick was happy to lean against the rail, taking a gulp of now air-warm beer. The trio remains silent for a few moments, Daryl obviously trying to process what to say next.

Finally, the firefighter says, resigned, “Wish it was. We got a few sources claimin’ it to be arson.” Rick’s brow furrows as he registers that; he purses his lips and taps a finger against the cold metal of the beer can, feeling the cool sensation of condensation clinging to the pads of his fingers.

Finally Rick just sighs and rolls his shoulders back in defeat. There was nothing to say to that; there was nothing to do but take another sip of beer. The firefighters in front of him seem to agree and do just the same, and there’s a quiet, detached atmosphere that hangs around them.

 “If it is,” Rick finally says, and then spends a few moments trying to find the right words. “The police – my coworkers – are probably in the process of handling it.” Daryl glances up, narrowing his eyes. “It’s probably best if you two stay out of the way and focus on your work.” It was meant to come out as friendly, but Daryl scoffs disbelievingly.

 “Its _our_ job,” the man hisses, hackles raised; and before Rick could make amends, he was storming off the porch, Atlanta in tow.

 Rick blinks in confusion for a few moments before Maggie’s soft voice brings him back: “Don’t worry,” she says calming, the polar opposite of her best friend. “We understand, I promise, and that’s the original plan,” After a moment of pause, one that was occupied by the pair watching Daryl disappear up the street, she continues. “He just hates being on the sidelines.”

“I’m goin’ to assume that’s why he’s still workin’ with the arm, yeah?” Rick breathes, and somehow the beer tastes even worse. Maggie nods. The young firefighter smiles at Rick and he returns it. He finishes his beer and stands up, giving her a gentle pat on her shoulder, one she leans into. “I may as well go do some painting, since I got the rest of the day off.”

 Maggie says goodbye and clears her and Daryl’s beer cans, waving when Rick steps back into his own house. It was cooler within it, the air conditioner whirling in some window. He starts with Carl’s room; the blue he selected for it was cliché but tolerable – not too dark, not too damsel. He forces himself to not think about Daryl when he dips the brush in and starts working.

At some point during his painting, when his actions are more robotic than anything and his mind is wandering, Rick hears his front door open slowly. He stops, paint brush half poised on a corner near the window, paint dripping off the wall and onto the floor with a quiet splat. He hears the tapping of Atlanta’s claws on hardwood floor, then the sound of her galloping up the stairs, before he’s surrounded by a black mass of pure happiness.

“Hey,” Daryl greets, quiet and unsure as he rounds the corner into the room. He hovers by the door, the black metal of his arm resting against the frame. His tongue slips out and runs along his bottom lip before he takes it between his teeth, gnawing on the already abused skin. The firefighter opts to stare at his own feet instead of Rick, shifting uncomfortably on the hardwood floor, still wearing heavy-duty work boots. 

In an attempt to break the awkward silence bestowed upon them, Rick cracks a smile and says, “Y’know, that’s wet paint.”

Daryl looks up, eyes blown wide, before he jerks away from the doorframe with a yelp catching in his throat. Luckily, Rick had painted that particular spot a while ago, so there was only a small streak of paint on the prosthetic. Rick abandons his post with a grin, carefully balancing the paintbrush on the lid of the paint can before trotting over to the other man. He offered out a damp towel. 

Daryl eyes it warily before accepting it, dabbing at the metal of his arm. The paint came off easily, as Rick expected, and the firefighter tossed the rag back. Rick catches it and nods. He turns his shoulder, preparing to continue his work whether Daryl would watch or not.

“Hey – uh,” Daryl stutters, and he almost reaches out to Rick, but wrenches his hand – his real hand – back. Rick stops and turns, and Daryl fumbles to continue. “Sorry for, uh, bein’ a dick earlier.”

“‘S fine, Dare,” Rick says, and pauses for a stress-filled moment while he waits to see how to other man responds to the nickname. If it bothers him, it doesn’t show. “I probably could’a found a better way to word the whole thing.”

 “Yeah,” Daryl chuckles. “Probably.” He watches Rick resume his work for a few moments, continuing to linger quietly (but noticeably careful not to lean on anymore walls). “Y’want some help?” the firefighter suddenly says, and Rick turns and smiles.

 “Yeah, sure.”

 The men work in uniform silence, while Atlanta sleeps on Carl’s bed that was pushed into the center of the room. With Daryl’s help, the job was getting done far quicker than Rick originally planned it to. But eventually, the mundane sounds of paintbrushes brushing quietly against the wall became far too much quiet for Rick to take.

 "How’d you and Maggie meet?” he asks suddenly, his voice sounding louder than he intended it to in the quiet room. Daryl doesn’t look up from his work, eyebrows still furrowed as he focuses on not letting a drop splatter on the floor.

 We were five,” the man says, sticking his tongue out subconsciously to focus. “Well, she was five. I was six – we were in the same class.” There was another moment of silence. “We ended up bein’ in the same class every year after that too, so naturally—“ and he doesn’t finish his sentence, doing so would be redundant.

 “Same with me ‘nd Shane,” Rick hums, and he wonders vaguely if he ever mentioned he and Shane, the man who was sleeping with his ex-wife, used to be best friends. But Daryl doesn’t question it, maybe because Rick did let it slip, or it was blatantly obvious, or Daryl was just really good at observing.

 “Yeah,” Daryl sighs wistfully, and Rick bites his lip and the small smile that forms on the man’s face. “We even got our first boyfriends in the same grade – although, mine lasted longer than hers.”

 Boyfriends. Daryl _had_ a _boyfriend_.

 Rick’s heart leapt into his throat.

 “Why was that?” Rick inquires casually, hoping he wasn’t staring at his work to intently or his voice didn’t sound strained.

 “I dunno,” Daryl shrugs. “Maggie had more of ‘em than me. I only really had the one.” Rick looks up to the feeling of being watched, and the firefighter is smirking warily at him. “Guess that prob’ly wasn’t the best way to out myself, huh?”

Rick blinks. “’S no big deal,” the cop shrugs, turning back to the wall. He felt Daryl’s eyes boring into the back of his head. “I’m bi,” he clarifies, pausing to watch the man’s reaction. 

If he tried hard enough, or imagined well enough, he thought he could make out a flicker in the younger man’s eyes; but if it were there at all, it was gone in and instant. The firefighter turns away and continues.

 “Yeah but me and Martinez,” Daryl pauses and waves the paintbrush around. Little droplets flick off and onto the floor, and the man swears and crouches to clean it. “We was more lust than love, didn’t last longer than a few years off ‘n on.”

 Rick nods in understanding and admits: “Lori was the only woman I was ever really with.”

 Daryl’s jaw dances behind his cheek. “Yeah – Martinez, too.”

 There’s a moment of silence, one that was filled only by Atlanta whimpering in her sleep. Daryl chuckles lightly.

 “He was a dick, though.”

* * *

 

The men worked in comfortable silence until the sun dipped down behind the trees and the room was splashed in orange light. Only then did they spread the last of the paint on the walls and close up the cans. They spent a good ten minutes trying to decide if they should rearrange Carl’s furniture, or wait until they were sure the paint had dried. Daryl ended up shoving Rick out of the room mid-sentence, the bed and dresser left in the center of their workspace.

 

They skipped down the stairs single file, laughing at a joke Rick cracked. Daryl’s broad shoulders cast shadows on the stairs in front of Rick, a comforting shell of familiar presence. When they reach the front door, their joyful cadence fades out, and Daryl’s real hand hovers over the doorknob.

 

Rick opens his mouth to reluctantly say goodnight, eyes on Daryl’s lips rather than his eyes, but the firefighter cuts him off.

 

“Do you—“ he says, then clears his throat, like the words came out faster than he expected them to. “Do you wanna, uh, go out for a beer?”

 

Rick cracks a smile. “You askin’ me out on a date, Dixon?”

 

Daryl scoffs and rolls his eyes, but pulls his hand back from the door. He crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under his armpits and flexing his shoulder muscles. “Nah, jus’ have a twenty-four hour shift startin’ tomorrow, so’s we won’t be able t’have one tomorrow night,” his eyes trail up Rick’s body. “But whatever you wanna call it is fine.”

 

Rick’s heart drops a little at the announcement of a twenty-four hour shift, but keeps the smile on his face anyway. “Yeah, lemme get my coat.”

* * *

Daryl takes Rick to a not so sleazy bar downtown, one Rick had noticed driving to work. The exterior was laid out bricks and green metal doors, but the inside had the warm and welcome dim yellow lights and quiet rock music. Daryl hopped right up onto a bar stool, gesturing to the one next to him with a raised eyebrow. Rick smiles and takes a seat, drumming his fingers on the stained wood of the counter and resting his chin in his other hand; he quirks his lips up at Daryl.

“You a regular here?” Rick asks, not failing to notice how one of the female bartenders winks at the firefighter.

 “You could say that,” Daryl replies, not looking at Rick but rather waving down a bartender. The waiter, this time male, rested his elbows lazily on the counter in front of Daryl, swaying his hips in time with the music. His spiky brown hair was glistening with sweat and sparkling with glitter, and his stumble dotted cheeks rose with a smile.

 “Hey, Mr. Dixon,” he says in a sultry tone, eyeing Daryl like he was some sort of Thanksgiving meal. Bile rose in Rick’s throat. “What can I get for you tonight?”

 “Round of shots for me and Mr. Pretty Cop over here,” Daryl grunts. His jaw tightens when he makes eye contact with the man, his whole visage cold and unwelcoming. The bartender snorts and pulls away.

 “Old mistake,” Daryl clarifies when Rick continues to stare at him with a raised eyebrow.

 “Have a lot of those myself,” Rick admits with a sigh, and the pair thanks the bartender in unison when their shots are slid across the table at them. Daryl gestures for Rick to carry on, dipping his head back to down the alcohol. Rick does the same before continuing. “I fooled around with Shane _a lot_ in high school – before meeting Lori, that is.”

Daryl nods slowly, and Rick pretends not to notice the way the firefighter’s gaze darkens. The conversation continues like that for a good half an hour, with one of them telling a different story about horrific one-night-stands or sloppy hook ups in school bathrooms. Until, like a river flows, Rick’s back is up against a graffiti marked bathroom wall, and Daryl’s teeth are skimming over his throat.

They would never settle the argument of if Daryl pushed Rick, or if Rick pulled Daryl – all that mattered is that they were there.

 Finally, Daryl kisses Rick, sloppy and tasting of vodka and cigarettes, forceful and impatient. Rick keens under him, hand finding dark brown hair and jean-clad hips. He shivers when cold metal brushes against the bare skin of his cheek, skirting down his jaw line and skimming like water over his neck. Then, as quickly as he came, Daryl was wrenching back.

His hands never left Rick, his real one grasping the front of Rick’s shirt in a white-knuckled, vice-like grip, and his prosthetic still cupping Rick’s cheek. Fear rises like bile in Rick’s throat, his heart pounding in his chest from a mix of anxiety, adrenaline, alcohol, and lust; a deadly combination.

“I—“ Daryl starts, then he’s leaning forward, resting his head on Rick’s shoulder. “I don’t wanna be yer drunken mistake,” the firefighter breathes, his breath smelling of whiskey and vodka, his body heavy. Rick releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, shifting so he could hold Daryl’s face between his hands. 

Rick smiles, rubbing his thumbs over Daryl’s high cheekbones, watching the man’s visage go from confusion to settlement, his eyelids fluttering closed under Rick’s gentle touch.

“You aren’t,” Rick assures, and yeah, he’s drunk off his ass, but that he was sure of. The only mistake Rick made was not kissing him sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao whats slow burn

**Author's Note:**

> So thats your sort of little taste for it. I'm definitely planning on continuing it, but updates may take a while. Also, in case anyone was wondering, Daryl's prosthetic is based off one called the "Terminator", it just connects to his shoulder instead of his elbow.


End file.
